


Hawke's Mabari

by trivialsins



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age II - Freeform, Dragon Age Video Games, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Mabari, Mabari Puppies, everything is better with puppies, there may be cake, things to do with your best friend's bff behind their back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-14 08:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trivialsins/pseuds/trivialsins
Summary: Hawke’s mabari needs help with a personal matter and involves Anders and Fenris.





	1. The Quest

Fenris’ consciousness ticked him awake, alerting him to something, but his mind didn’t tell him what it was. Fenris groaned and rolled onto his back, wincing, shielding his eyes with an arm. Sunlight was streaming through the holes in his ceiling.

There it was again—the noise, a barely audible scratching and faint banging coming from outside of his room.

Yawning, he sat up, swung his feet to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and then picked his leathers off the floor, shook them out, slid into the leggings and shrugged into his tunic, not bothering to fasten the clasps. The noise didn’t sound dangerous. It was probably being made by a cat or a rat.

Still yawning, he made his way down the stairs and stumbled through his gloomy greatroom, still not awake enough to see. The scratching was coming from his front door. It was insistent and repetitive—scratch, scratch… scratch, scratch—as if whoever was making the noise was pausing to listen.

“Coming,” he called, and the noise stopped. He cracked open the door and peeked blearily out.

Hawke’s massive mabari, Maric, pushed the gap wider and forced his way inside, and then turned and grinned, panting with his tongue hanging out.

Fenris examined the outside of his door. There were new, deep claw marks through greying wood and peeling paint.

Ruefully, he shut it and turned to the dog, curious. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Seeing the mabari without Hawke was unusual. The war hound barely ever went visiting; he was always either sleeping in front of Hawke’s fireplace or with Hawke. Maric was wearing kit, too. He had his armor and backpack on.

The mabari barked happily and jumped up to greet him. Fenris jerked away as the beast’s huge jaws clomped together near his cheek.

The dog took off, scrambling through Fenris’ mansion and into his room, scattering tiles and bits of mushroom. Fenris followed at a slower pace, and found the hound sitting by his armor, pawing and nosing it, his tail wagging.

“You want me to dress? To come with you?” Fenris asked, staring. “What is this about?”

The dog barked a sharp affirmative to each question, his tongue lolling out happily.

“All right, let me wash.” Fenris was fully awake. A visit without Hawke was strange enough, but having the dog invite him out had never happened before. He snatched a towel from the floor and strode to his bath.

After a quick scrub, the dog watched approvingly while he strapped on his armor, and then led the way to Fenris’ kitchen where he inspected and restocked the warrior’s pack. At the dog’s insistence, the confused elf kept adding bread and cheese and smoked meat and vegetables and apples until there was nothing left on his shelves.

At Fenris’ weapon rack, the mabari picked out a greatsword. Fenris didn’t object; he was mystified but fully engaged; each new demand was like a piece to a puzzle he had to solve. The sword was one of his favorites, a gift from Hawke, but he couldn’t help teasing a little. “Not an axe or a maul?”

The dog barked at him crossly. Fenris hooked the greatsword on his back, burning with curiosity, and followed the war hound to his next task, gathering every skin he had and filling one with fresh water.

When Fenris was properly outfitted, the mabari led the way out of the mansion and took off toward Lowtown at speed, circling back to snap at Fenris’ heels.

“I cannot run here,” Fenris admonished him. “An elf running in Hightown gets stopped by the guard.” It was true, but not exactly fair; anyone not nobly dressed stood a chance of being stopped in Hightown. Fenris knew some of the guard, notable members of the unit, but not all. He kept his head down. The dog whined impatiently but fell into step beside him.

To humor him Fenris loped down the stairs and through parts of Lowtown, only slowing to a walk in the markets. The mabari led the way to Darktown, and they ran through it together.

“Why didn’t we go through Hawke’s cellar... if we were coming here?” Fenris asked between breaths. “Surely Hawke would have... let you use the key?” The dog grumbled at him and tossed his head—no. They kept running until Fenris saw the familiar lanterns at the door of Anders’ clinic. They were lit. The mabari headed straight for the mage’s doors.

“Here?” Fenris asked incredulously, slowing to a walk. Finding out whatever the dog had planned suddenly became a lot less appealing. The war hound sensed his reluctance and woofed impatiently, jumping at the door until Fenris opened it.

Unsurprisingly, Anders was healing. The people Anders shared his space with gave Fenris wary, shadowed looks, no doubt remembering the fight the two of them had last time he had come. Anders’ patient was a surly human who had an arm in a makeshift splint and looked like a sailor.

Anders looked up and his eyes narrowed. “Fenris? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Fenris answered shortly.

“Then what—?”

Fenris gestured at the dog sitting next to him who was drooling and wagging his tail. “This was his idea.”

The mabari huffed in agreement. Anders’ staff was leaning nearby against a wall. Maric clamped it in his jaws and brought it to Anders, dropping it on the ground at his feet.

“What—no! I don’t want to play fetch or whatever, especially not with my staff!” Anders angrily seized his weapon, scowling at the slobber on it. “I’m busy and you’re in the way! Bad dog! Sit!”

The mabari’s ears flattened and his hackles rose. He snarled and barked back, spit flying and canines flashing. The healer recoiled.

Although he was tempted by the idea of seeing Anders bitten for rudeness, Fenris thought he’d better step between them. There were only a few patients in the clinic, as far as he could tell.

“We can wait. Right?” he asked the dog, holding his hands up soothingly. “You knew he might be working.”

The mabari growled. He stalked stiff-legged to a nearby cooking fire and lay down, staring pointedly at Anders.

Fenris followed him, easing his pack off his shoulders and setting it down beside the war hound. He returned to Anders and helped the mage remove the splint from the injured man. The man hissed and cursed as the healer reset the bone.

“What’s this about?” Anders sent a sidelong scowl at the dog.

Anders’ poor humor was mostly due to fatigue, Fenris saw. There were bags under the mage’s eyes. He looked unkempt and frazzled; some of his hair was flying loose, and his stubble was patchy, too long in some places. “A trip out of town, I think. He made me put together two day's worth of supplies.”

“Two days? No.” Anders cast, his hands glowing with blue-white light. “No way. I can’t be gone that long.”

“You could use the break. You look like something spat up by a demon.” Fenris took a quick look at the mage’s shelves. “You are running low on reagents. Come along to gather some herbs.”

“That’s at most an afternoon’s worth of work, not two days! There’s always a risk of chokedamp after it rains, and three ships from Antiva docked this morning. I need to be here.”

“Aye, it means the pox, it does,” the sailor added helpfully, bending and stretching his arm.

“There are other healers in Kirkwall. Circumstance might make the Order allow Gallows mages to use their powers as the Maker intended.” Fenris suggested glibly.

The mage's scowl deepened. “Don’t start,” he snapped.

“Many thanks, healer.” the sailor’s sour expression lightened into a smile. He slapped three silvers onto the cot before Anders could object, picked up his coat and left. Anders collected the coins with a sigh.

Fenris followed Anders to the next patient, a stout warrior with a lacerated lip and a black eye. He leaned his back against the cot, folded his arms and stared at the floor. There had to be some way to get Anders to agree to come.

“I could forgive some of your gambling debts,” Fenris offered. Anders ignored him. Reluctantly, Fenris added another bribe. “I’ll help process the herbs—cut up elfroot, powder embrium, boil spindleweed...”

Anders considered his proposal, holding the woman’s cut together and healing it.

“If we’re going to be gone for two days, you have to come help in the clinic for two days.”

“Anders—” Fenris warned.

“No pregnancies, I promise, I’ll deal with them,” Anders reassured hastily. “Help me make up salves for the brothels, do the laundry, pull the odd arrow, maybe a bladder stone.”

“Kidney stones too?” asked the warrior hopefully. “I don’t want to pass another one of those.”

“You might prefer it to my searching through your innards. I’m not a mage or a surgeon.” Fenris informed her darkly, and she blanched. He tried to think of a way out. “I have to work. I can’t be here for the entire day.”

“You probably won’t have another,” Anders soothed the woman, patting her shoulder. “There’s one left and it’s small, it most likely will never come out. Eat less cheese.”

To Fenris he insisted, “You spend most of your time drinking and moping. Two full days, unless you get work, or no deal.”

_Kaffas._

“Done,” Fenris sighed resignedly. “I’ll douse the lanterns. We’re leaving as soon as you’re finished.”

He shook his head. Two whole days in the clinic, in the healer’s company.

It was Anders’ educated opinion that Fenris was capable of far more than Danarius had intended, and since he was a mage and Anders, he didn’t listen to Fenris’ objections.

For his part, Fenris knew little or nothing about how he had been created—only that Danarius had meant him to be a weapon—and had to admit he didn’t know what his full abilities could be. He was always becoming more attuned to his tattoos. He also had trouble looking into the desperate eyes of Anders’ patients and their families. His solution, so far, had been to avoid Anders and the clinic.

Hawke’s mabari was lying by the fire smiling at him approvingly with his tongue lolling out.

Fenris gave him a black look and mouthed, “You owe me.” The dog shut his mouth and stopped panting.

Together they went through Anders’ kit while the mage finished his work. As usual, Anders had no rations. There wasn’t a scrap of food in the clinic to pack. Fenris added hunger as another source of the mage’s foul temper. Fenris usually took care of victuals when they went with Hawke; they were a team and shared a tent, Hawke preferring the company of his better-humored friends to either of theirs. Anders had charge of their tent, a hand-held crossbow and extra blankets, and Fenris took care of their food, water, and cookware.

When the last patient had been ushered out the door, Anders picked up the tent and slung it on his back. The three of them set off for Lowtown, Hawke’s mabari leading the way.

“What are we doing?” Anders grumbled. “Are we actually going to follow the dog wherever he decides to go?”

The war hound stopped in the Lowtown market outside a butcher’s window. Sausage links lay in baskets behind the counter. The stall smelled of smoke and herbs. It was heavenly, and Fenris’ mouth began to water.

“Why are we here?” Anders leaned against the wall of the building. He scoffed when the dog pointed with his nose at a hanging carcass of a druffalo. “You can’t be serious.”

“You are carrying it.” Fenris told the dog.

The butcher appeared from the darkness at the back of the shop, wiping bloody hands on his apron. “What’ll ye have?”

The war hound peered up into Fenris’ eyes and cocked his head expectantly.

Sighing, Fenris began to guess. “Flank? Ribs? Haunch?” The dog barked. “Haunch. How much?”

The butcher leaned his elbows on the counter, sneering, looking him up and down. “Five silver.”

“That’s outrageous. That price is robbery.” Anders stepped into the butcher’s view. “It’s because he’s an elf, isn’t it?”

“It’s all right, Anders, I have the money.” Fenris muttered. He kept his eyes down and dug into his coin pouch.

“That’s not the point. How’s the hand, Moritz? One silver, thirty copper.”

“Oh, healer. I didn’t see you there.” Moritz’ tone became polite. Fenris noticed a long scar across the man’s palm when he patted the side of the carcass. “This ‘ere was meadow raised, came from a farm in the Marches. Three silver, eighty copper.”

“The forced march to Kirkwall was obviously too much for her. There’s no fat on her and you’re a thankless reprobate,” Anders snapped. “Two silver, ten copper.”

The butcher stared at him incredulously. “’Ere, listen, perhaps the cut isn’t for ye. It’s for the dog, yah? I’ve got offal and ends. Pigs’ ears and feet, fat, heart, brain, lung, liver, bones, beaks, and butt holes. Nug bits. Rat and pigeon too, naught but skin and best for soup. I’ll show ye.” He started to set baskets and trays onto the counter, and Maric jumped up and barked with delight.

The butcher wrapped and tied the mabari’s purchases neatly in waxed paper and hemp string, and Fenris loaded them into the dog’s backpack. With the money he saved, he bought the three of them a smoked sausage each, and at other stalls, some sack, and pastries for the road. The war hound held an end of his sausage to the ground with a paw and tore off chunks, devouring it.

“I don’t feel so bad about losing to you at cards now. Do you always have to pay so much?” Anders bit the end off his link.

Fenris shrugged, his mouth full. Prices could be higher for elves. Some shopkeepers made a show of not wanting elven business and charged double or triple, and no one stopped them. Merrill had a sweet way about her, so she didn’t have to pay as much, but Fenris paid what was asked. Neither money nor the opinions of human merchants meant much to him, and he didn’t like haggling. If he couldn’t buy what he wanted, he usually stole it; it made up the difference. “Thank you for leaping to my defense.”

“It was unjust.” Anders took another bite. “That Moritz has some gall. He cut himself so badly last spring I nearly had to amputate. I spent an hour and two bottles of lyrium reconnecting nerves, and this is his thanks?”

Fenris shrugged again. The right to haphazardly interfere with a man’s livelihood might be a bit much to expect. He also had a suspicion druffalo meat might be more expensive than Anders supposed—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the healer eat it—but kept his peace. They’d be fighting soon enough. There was no reason to begin so soon over something so inconsequential.

Hawke’s dog paused at the north gate and waited by the fountain until Fenris had filled the water skins. They followed the mabari into the wilds and it soon became clear that Maric was heading for the Wounded Coast.

Fenris was glad he had come. The weather was fine, and a cool breeze was sweeping from the ocean.

He had been right about the mage; Anders needed a rest. The mage straightened, his step quickened, and he looked ahead eagerly, smiling. The weight of his concerns seemed to fall away. “Should we be going by ourselves? I don’t fancy running into bandits.”

“We will scout, but I do not think we need to worry. We walked every path and cave with Hawke a week ago. There was nothing. There has not been much since that gang with the mabari hounds, and we killed the only dragon.”

“That’s true, and we have a hound with us who can smell out any threat.” Anders reached out and petted the dog.

The mabari leaned into his hand and woofed an agreement. He ran ahead of them on the path and off it, crashing through the scrubby brush, doubling back, sniffing the ground, leading them farther into the hills. They ambled after him. The dog was looking for something, and his manner got more urgent.

“I wonder what we are doing here.” Anders paused and leaned on his staff, watching the dog search.

Fenris hummed and nodded, offering the skin of wine he’d bought. Anders took it. Even though the healer couldn’t get drunk, he still liked the taste of alcohol.

They walked for most of the day, back and forth all over the coast. Hawke’s mabari paused often and howled. He was expecting something, but nothing happened.

Fenris killed a rabbit; Anders made them stop when he saw herbs he needed.

Eventually they got to a clearing as far up into the hills as they could get; they could see for miles in every direction. Anders’ bag was full of spindleweed and elfroot.

The hound sniffed through the clearing slowly in a wide circle, and then sat in the middle of it, dejected. He threw back his head and howled mournfully.

Anders found a rock and sat. “It appears we’re at the end of our journey. It’s a pity.”

Fenris climbed a prominence and looked around. He did not know what he was looking for, but he hoped his keen elven eyesight might serve the dog and see something, nonetheless. It seemed a shame that after so much effort, the poor animal would not be able to carry out his goal, whatever it was. The mabari chuffed sadly between howls, ears drooping.

It had been noon by the time they had set out, and now the sun was dropping in the sky. Fenris was about to step down from the rock and begin setting up camp when there was a low, angry, rumbling growl from underbrush.

He crouched and put his hand on the haft of his sword. There was something massive near them. He could see its hulking shape in the bush, but not what it was. He and Anders looked at each other.

Anders was still sitting, appearing unconcerned, smiling. The tips of his fingers winked white with a cold spell. The mabari let out a surprised, joyful bark and a welcoming whine, and his muzzle split into a wide, panting smile.

A huge war hound crept from the scrub. Her hackles were standing, and her teeth were bared in a ferocious snarl.

She was fearsome, larger than Hawke’s hound, and much meaner looking; her body was taut and rippled with muscle. A long, deep, badly healing wound ran from the top of her head down to her jowl; whatever had made it had taken an eye. Her ears were nicked and flattened close to her skull. She growled and gathered herself threateningly, head low and tail raised, poised to spring at one of them.

“Oh, isn’t she lovely,” Anders grinned.

Maric huffed in agreement and scrambled to meet her, whining. She snapped at him angrily and he danced away from her, circling, insistent, trying to smell her. She snarled at him but Fenris could tell she was softening. Hawke’s dog was being very polite; his head and ears were down. He got his way and they sniffed each other’s bums and then she let him put his nose close to hers.

“A female?” Fenris let out the breath he was holding and stood straight. “Is this why you brought us all the way up here? So you could go on a date?”

Anders chuckled, and then he laughed and stood, leaning on his staff. “They’re well past dating.”

The war hounds looked at him. Maric’s expression was hopeful and he leaned forward, his tail wagging. The female mabari stance was less open. She kept her head down and her tail up like a standard, glaring at Anders.

“I was wondering why you wanted me along. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Anders laughed again. “They’re fine. They’re all healthy and growing well. Congratulations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of Fenris, Anders, and the Mabari made by the marvelous lethendralis! https://lethendralis-paints.tumblr.com/


	2. Arguing with Anders

“There are going to be puppies?” Fenris climbed down from the rock and crouched to see. The female’s belly looked like a regular mabari one.

“Yes,” Anders grinned. To the couple he said, “I can tell you how many and what they are if you like.”

The female eyed him cautiously and perked her ears, but Hawke’s war hound let out a scandalized bark.

Anders was beaming. “Let me help you unwrap the presents. I’d like to have the string; I can use it.” He opened their war hound’s backpack, pried the string off each package and tossed them to the she-hound.

She fell on them and ripped them open, demolishing the contents, crunching through the bones, shredding the paper to get at the blood soaked in it.

Fenris got a better look at her. Her muscles stood out in bold relief. She had seemed like a creature of pure power but seeing her close and watching her eat made him think differently. He and Anders shared a sidelong look.

The female mabari was starving.

She was thirsty too. Fenris opened his pack and pulled out one of his cooking pots, emptied a skin of water in it and set it down for both dogs. She scrambled to the pot and sucked in water. Hawke’s mabari waited politely while she drank her fill.

“She must be a survivor from the bandits.” Anders was still smiling. He was sitting on the rock again with a small pile of tangled string in his lap, picking out the knots. “She seems to by herself out here.”

“That battle was a while ago. What do you think she’s been eating?”

“My guess is the dragon we killed. That can’t be good for her. It must be putrid by now.” Anders looked at the she-hound, winding the bits of string he’d salvaged into a ball. “Is that right? Is that where you’ve been denning, sweetheart? With the dragon?”

The mabari female woofed, her ears flat.

Fenris felt sorry for her. He liked coming to the Wounded Coast and walking its trails, but he would hate to live in it. It was true to its name, a wasteland battered by storms blowing in from the sea. There was hardly any game. It was not safe either; riffraff of every sort were attracted to the caves in the area. “She cannot stay here. We have to take her back to Kirkwall with us.”

“Where will she stay? With whom? It can’t be Hawke. If it could be him, he’d be here in our stead. He was leading us, and he was first into battle like he always is. He probably killed her previous partner.”

The female mabari angrily agreed, snarling. Maric whined sadly.

“She can’t stay with any of us. You know how he is, he never knocks, he just barges in, and once he figures out what’s going on, he’ll try to meet her, because he likes to fix things. She can’t be anywhere near Hawke; she’ll have his throat in an instant. It’s a good thing she doesn’t hold us responsible as well as Hawke.” Anders looked at the female apologetically. “Although for what it’s worth, we’re sorry.”

“It is a shame. Merrill’s house would otherwise be perfect. She could teach them all sorts of things. She knows all the old stories and the puppies would enjoy the rats.”

“And we won’t take her to the Chantry. It’s completely out. There’s no telling how she or the babies will end up.”

Maric’s head jerked up. He huffed indignantly, outraged.

“Perhaps the Guards will take her in? The puppies will all become guardsmen and women. They won’t have the opportunity to be fostered into noble houses, but it’s not a bad life.”

The parents listened, their eyes and ears following the turns of the conversation, and then the female pointedly turned her back. Hawke’s dog looked from her to them, his ears drooping.

“Well, I suppose there’s no point in discussing it now. We can think about it later.” Anders set aside his string, drew his hunting knife, and held out his hand, demanding the rabbit Fenris had caught.

Fenris reluctantly gave it; he’d wanted it for their supper, not the she-hound’s. Anders butchered it quickly, skinning it and cutting it open, and threw it to the female.

The three of them watched her tear it into bloody chunks, devouring it.

“Go get us another rabbit, or a pheasant, or both. She and I will set up camp.” Anders crooked a finger at the female. “Come here, sweetheart, let me see that cut over your eye. It looks infected.”

The she-hound looked at Anders warily, licking blood off her muzzle, and crept closer, sniffing at the mage’s knees.

Fenris got a handful of quarrels and their crossbow. It was a simple hand-held thing with a bronze trigger, nothing like Varric’s Bianca. He’d bought it for them when they were without Varric, and he and Anders were good enough with it to be able to hunt, if the quarry wasn’t too far away or moving. He and Hawke’s war hound set off to flush game.

“Do not worry,” Fenris followed the mabari’s gaze. The dog was looking back at the camp where Anders was still coaxing the female closer. “He will talk to her.”

There was some dense scrub upwind near the water. It was the only place on the coast they hadn’t been, and if there was any game, it would be there. Fenris strung the crossbow and sent the dog into the bush.

Fenris knew his words to Hawke’s dog were empty; no matter what they said and did, the female would not come to Kirkwall. She did not know them. Her ears had perked when he’d mentioned Merrill and the possibility of an education for her puppies, but Fenris knew as soon as the she-hound learned about the mirror, she would not go anywhere near Merrill’s house.

A quail burst from a tangled mass of leaves and branches. Fenris shot it.

They had to figure something out. Mabari relied on their human owners or their pack for survival. The female’s situation would only get worse as she got gravid and less able to hunt for herself. Two days of their time was not going to be enough.

Fenris and the dog went back up the hill with their prize, Fenris trudging, deep in thought, the dog bounding ahead. Anders had their tent up and a fire started, and the she-hound was warming her belly. Her cut had become a ragged scar, and she was lying beside the fire with her head on her front paws, dozing. Her tummy was so full it looked stretched.

Fenris handed the quail to Anders, got a mug, mixed some wine with water, and settled by the fire to watch the mage work. Anders scalded and plucked the bird; soon there were pieces of quail frying in a covered pan. Anders made tea and cut up potatoes, an onion, and carrots.

Fenris added tea to his watered wine.

Hawke’s mabari was cuddling with the female, lying beside her, lifting his head now and again to touch noses with her. She kept drowsing; it had likely been a long while since the last time her belly had been full.

They did not talk about it, for the sake of the dogs, but it was obvious they were both thinking the same thing. Anders’ brow was furrowed, and he glanced at the dogs often while he laid out their bedrolls and hung his herbs to dry.

The situation was a quandary. They both had to be in Kirkwall. Anders had the clinic, and Fenris supported himself with mercenary work out of the Hanged Man; he spent his days there.

Anders held out a wooden bowl of quail, fried potatoes and sautéed veggies. It smelled delicious. Fenris took it. “Who has first watch?”

The mage settled down on the other side of the fire with his own bowl. “The dogs do, and both watches. They can sleep tomorrow.”

Maric’s eyes cracked open and his ear twitched, and then he rolled onto his side, heaved a sigh, and started snoring.

Fenris hoped it meant the dog agreed.

The quail was delicious, beautifully herbed and seasoned. For a beggar, Anders was a masterful cook. Fenris guessed Anders had learned while he’d been a Warden; southern circles did not teach cooking. Even in Tevinter, few mages learned anything other than magic. They could not afford to waste the time.

They ate in silence. The night air was still and warm, the sky clear; it was an ocean of stars. Fenris sat leaning against an outcropping with the bowl on his lap. The healer was sitting like he was, on the other side of the fire with his own bowl, relaxing, looking out to sea, but his smile had disappeared. He looked like he usually did, arrogant and impatient, as if existence was more trouble than it was worth.

Fenris sighed. Something about the day had been perfect for them, maybe it had been the weather, or having a mystery to solve, but they had not fought, or even talked much, only enjoyed themselves and each other’s company for once. He had just decided he needed to get away from Kirkwall more often, even if it was with the mage; he could remember few times when he had been as content, but the mage’s current mood reminded him of all the things about Anders he did not like.

The she-hound finally stirred, lifting her head sleepily. She got to her feet, and, with a backward look, left the fire. Hawke’s dog went with her.

The two mabari disappeared into the night.

Fenris tensed. Old fears made his hands shake.

Anders was easy to fight with; he was a blind idiot with no appreciation for logic, and he treated Fenris like an equal. Still, even after all the time he’d spent away from Tevinter, Fenris had trouble talking back to a mage.

To his credit, Anders waited a full minute and a half until the dogs were out of earshot before he started griping. “This is Hawke’s fault. He should have seen to this aspect of his hound’s life a long time ago, and then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Scowling, the mage stood and fed scraps and bones to the fire, wiping his bowl thoroughly with some dead grass. “She won’t come back to Kirkwall with us. She’ll have to be cared for here, on the coast.”

“I gathered as much.” Fenris’ voice sounded hard and cold even to his own ears. “You sound like you have issues with it.”

“I’ll make you a list of the things you’re going to need to get her through. You’ll have to pay close attention to her. I’ve heard Mabari pregnancies are difficult.”

“I have heard the same. You can blame the Magisters of Tevinter for it.”

Anders gave him a dirty look but refused to be distracted. “She’s been too long without food and clean water, and she has worms. You’re going to have to find a way to weigh her and then I’ll mix something up.”

“No, I will not.” Fenris put his bowl on the ground and glared up at the mage. “You will. It is why you are here.”

“I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to; I have no time to spare for dogs. I have people to look after.” Anders picked up Fenris’ dish and wiped it too, tossing the fouled grass into the fire. “But if there are problems, or when she’s close, let me know, and I’ll come.”

“I will not come here alone, not regularly, every day at the same time. It’s too dangerous. I might as well look for Danarius’ slavers and hand myself over. You know I do not go anywhere without a group of allies, either Hawke’s or my friends, mercenaries like myself.”

“Oh please.” Anders scoffed, getting busier as he got angrier. The pan clattered when he flipped it upside down so the fire could burn it clean. “You talk about leaving Kirkwall at least once a month. We’ve defeated everyone, his apprentice, what’s-her-name—Hadrianna? He’s not going to come.”

“He will. If only for revenge, to scrape the lyrium from my skin. I’m sure I’ve become a significant embarrassment. He has to win.”

“But if I’m along to protect you, you’ll feel safe? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you trusted me.” Anders’ laugh was mocking. “This is new.”

“I will feel _safer_. You, I, and the dogs make four, which should be enough; we took Hadrianna and her underlings with only four. I _trust _you will not want to face Hawke without me or his war hound. You know I will fight to the death unless I’m captured, and so will the dog.”

Fenris was keeping himself in control, but his temper was rising; he could feel his face flushing. “It is not me who is needed here, it is you! I am only here as your bodyguard. You should feel ashamed. It’s not any animal asking, it’s Hawke’s war hound. He is our faithful companion; he’s fought with us, helped us, even saved our lives, and this is how you repay him? He has asked nothing of any of us in return, only this. Are you really going to forsake him?”

“_Listen_ to me. I _can’t_ be here. I have… things I need to do. The clinic—”

“No, _you _listen to _me_! When has the clinic ever stopped you from leaving with Hawke? Your clinic is almost empty these days; you said so yourself. You have the time, or you should.” Fenris glared. “What are you planning, Anders?”

“It’s not like I’d tell you.” Anders face was shadowed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Correct. I do not.” Fenris’ voice was icy. “If you will not help, I will ask the Order. I believe Knight-Captain Cullen is partial to mabari. He might even lend me a capable healer, if a loyal one still exists.”

“Ha! He’ll just confiscate the dog, and you and Maric will never see her again.”

“And then she will get the best care possible.” Fenris let the hint of a mean smile show. “And so will her children.”

“Those puppies were fathered by _Hawke’s dog_.” Anders’ voice was like flint, hard and brittle. “You’re _not_ going to raise them to be set on mages.”

“Is there another choice?”

“Damn you to the Void! You have no idea what you’re asking!”

“It will not be that bad.” Fenris wheedled, scenting victory. “Besides your care, the dog will need food and water twice a day. We only need to spend our nights here; our days will be the same.”

“Yours, maybe, but mine won’t.” Anders’ scowl deepened. “At night I help with the Mage Underground, and you may not be a target out here with me along, but I _am_. They’re still after me.”

It was a valid point. Anders was safer in his clinic, with his volunteer army and Darktown between him and the Order. “We’re both unprotected without Hawke. I swear I will hide you and defend you as you will me.”

“You’ll do one better.” Anders smiled; it wasn’t a nice smile. “I still have to find the time for everything I need to do. You’re going to help me get mages out of the Gallows.”

Fenris thought about it, staring into the fire.

Anders’ mad quest to free every mage in southern Thedas was the last thing he wanted to be part of, but Kirkwall was already a cesspool. Anders would help mages escape whether he got Fenris’ assistance or not. If it was the only way to get Anders to agree… “Done.”

“What?” Anders’ mouth dropped open. “Just like that? I expected you to run to Hawke the moment you found out what his war hound wanted. This situation is technically his problem, not ours. We’re making it ours. What are you getting out of this?”

“It is the right thing to do.” Fenris scowled up at Anders, daring him to disagree. “Hawke would do whatever he could, even if Maric was not involved. We can do the same.”

“You’re more likely to betray the Mage Underground than help. How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t!” Fenris glowered up at Anders. “But when have I ever interfered? I have done more, I have gone with you and Hawke and killed on behalf of mages. All I do is disapprove, and I will when work with you, mage, you can count on it. It will simply be another assignment, one without pay. The _why_ of it, the foolishness you are engaging in, is not my problem.”

Fenris could see Anders was angry. His skin was flushed, and his mouth was set in a thin line, but the healer didn’t answer. He was not looking at Fenris, but at the fire.

“Are we agreed?”

“I suppose.” Anders sighed. “I can’t say the day was wasted. It was good to get away for a while, and spend some time doing something other than… the usual. I love how you always make me feel like a cad.”

“You prioritize all the wrong things. Look after yourself. Do what you can and leave the rest to others. You’ve won freedom. Let it be enough.”

“It isn’t freedom if it can be taken away in the blink of an eye.” Anders scowled at Fenris but let out his frustration with a breath. “As you well know, but never mind. We still have to work out how and when are we going to do everything, where we’ll be staying, what we’ll be eating…”

“Tomorrow.” Fenris passed Anders the wine skin. “Tonight we rest.”


End file.
